


Not a relationship

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3081191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not a relationship, it was never meant to be one. And they should really not have been thinking about it. Things happen, when they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a relationship

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful mind of JK Rowling, I play for fun, not profit...

This... it's not really a relationship, you know. It isn't. I know, I'm not quite _that_ daft. I mean, I know everybody thinks I'm practically a walking log with hair on top, but even I... no. Definitely not a relationship, that much I know.

And he knows it, too, how could he not? He'd never want one, not with me, for fuck's sake, no... I know that. This is just sex. However mind-shattering and fucking time-stopping and reality-altering and heart-, well, no, there's no heart in it. There shouldn't be. No heart allowed. Just majestic raw fucking, yeah? That was the deal. This is what he wants; no more. A deal's a deal, even an unspoken one.

Though now... when he lies in my arms, absolutely fucked empty of his usual malice and snark, soft as a kitten, all perfect alabaster skin, pearly in the candle-light with drying sweat and long eyelashes closed over those magical silver eyes, pressing into the crook of my neck as if there's no place he'd rather be – now this stupid thing I have for a heart aches to call him more. To call him by his name and to call him mine. To call this... _thing_ we have by a different name. I know it's just sex. I know. But in this moment... it feels different.

It's just that... these meetings of ours... what was a one-time drunken mistake at the Ministry reception – yes, _at_ the reception, not after it, don't judge, it was a very boring reception! - quickly became fuck-how-did-that-happen-again... and again, until a few “agains” later it shifted into casual-not-so-casual “chance” meetings that ended up with gasping desperate fucking on places I can't even... until one day he hissed out “ _oh, fuck this... my place, yeah_ ” and he side-disapparated us and...

That was three weeks ago and now... it feels as if I never left... I've been spending more time here, in this remote island of exquisite taste and luxury he calls home, than at my own place and people are beginning to notice. In the three weeks I've been home twice?-perhaps... oh, no, three times, but every time I'd settle down to spend a night, I get that annoying nervous owl of his that gave me more wounds than the bloody war, calling me back for some stupid... whatever and I end up packing fresh clothes and leaving appeasing messages to my friends that I'm still breathing... though barely, but they don't need to know that.

Because he makes me breathless. The way he pounces on me when I stumble out of the fire-place – like there's no one else he'd rather be with. And the way he looks at me when he thinks I can't see him, there's... I can't find the words for it... I don't think he even knows... but he looks hungry and almost... _smitten_? I'm sure that's not the right word either, a forever-side-kick here, hello? People – any kind of people, but especially his kind – they just don't get smitten by the likes of me. But I don't even care what the right word is, just... I'd be happy if someone looked at me like this for the rest of my life.

Of course he'd never own up to it. After all, this isn't a relationship. You don't put a relationship in an isolated apartment, however fancy, you take it places and show it to people, flaunt it, even, if it makes you happy and if it's the right one. Never gonna happen. It would set his world, both our worlds, upside down and why would he do that for someone who's hardly more than a casual fuck, however glorious one?

If only. I can't possibly want it, I shouldn't... but when he cuddles up to me, still wrecked from coming so hard he says he might have hurt himself – at least I can give him that - when he whispers sweet nothings into my ear in his few seconds of coming bliss, calling this, calling what we do, calling _me_ by all the words I want to be called, words like “ _I always wanted to taste your freckles_ ”, “ _make love to me_ ”, “ _I need this, I need your large body pressing into mine_ ”, “ _gods, you feel divine_ ”, “ _Ron... I... please_ ” and then, finally, when he's undone by the last of the strings holding him together and he falls apart in my arms, on my mouth, it's always one last strained whisper “ _only you..._ ” - now you tell me, how can I not want more?!

So I pretend. In my head, I call him “my boyfriend”, I imagine calling me by my given name is a statement of love, sort of. Love. Dear god, what a scary thought! He'd laugh his guts out if he knew.... But when he's sleeping in my arms, warm and cuddly and all mine, I whisper it into the sweet air, still scented with our love-making, my tenderness and his surrender; I whisper it in the softest breath I have: “I love you, Draco Malfoy.” And it sounds right and I pretend I see him give the tiniest of smiles.

Fuck. I'm so screwed.

~

No, of course this is not a relationship, what an impossible proposition, thank you, brain dearest, you seem to be exceptionally daft today! A relationship, really... some idea... I suppose I can't honestly blame you, though, you have been partially, if not entirely melted by that redheaded berk who just happens to fuck like a god and has this absolutely perfect body anyone could drool over for hours... No, it's not just me, of course not, look at Granger!

She's supposed to have the best head of our generation on her shoulders and he span it so, she didn't know whether she was coming or going! She moved to bloody Australia once he let her go! Couldn't stand a look at him with someone better, I reckon... She always was a hag-in-the-making with that bushy hair and a book attached to her nose. He deserves so much better... so, _so_ much better... he'd be right wasted on her!

Just look at those shoulders... well, you can't really _look_ at them, because I'm currently buried into one of them, so I can breathe in the last of him and just tell this stupid racing horse I have for a heart to calm the fuck down – but I assure you they're broad and muscled to the point of being square and a perfect fit for my face. That little spot between that endless, shockingly elegant neck and the said shoulders was probably shaped with the thought of my head resting in it, how else would I fit in there with such perfection?! Even when he stands up... bloody hell, did you see him?! A right giant, if there ever was one! I've never been with a man this tall... Not that I'm _with_ him... that way, no, Merlin, no, just...

Oh, bugger off, brain, he _did_ give you a good shake-up, didn't he, him and that blasted ungodly mouth of his, pure poison, so soft, so... Oh, bloody hell... Anyway, even when he stands up - and he pulls me closer with one of those brutish scarred arms of his, my head just slips into the crook of his neck and it just smells like Heaven in there and it feels right... No one should have the right to smell so masculine, so sweet, so incredibly sexy... like sin personified mixed with lime broom polish and cinnamon cookies... wait, what?! How did you come up with that, you grey waste of wizarding evolution!? He doesn't smell like that, surely not, no one does! All my favourite things, indeed... It's just … there is something... different, when he makes me melt into him, something I've never felt before with any of the people I've been with, a small army of them... and _never_ , ever have I felt myself right where I belong. Almost like I'm... home?

Oh, you thick melted mash, is that the best you can come up with?! _Home_ , really... it's more like I... belong in there, I do, and he's so tall and smells so wonderful and then he looks at me down from his height with those blue, blue eyes of his, lit up like starlight and I just... Oh, for fuck's sake – how does one belong into the crook of someone else's neck, however gorgeous they smell and how right they feel and how fascinating their incredible eyes are!? You stupid...

Oh, now he started grunting... and it's kind of, maybe, a little bit adorable... Like now, when he moved his arm underneath me to stop it from falling numb, so carefully, not to shake me out of my alleged sleep, so gently... he's just a giant fluffy bear, isn't he?! I like to pretend I'm sleeping just to have him make all those small manly sounds, fix my hair so lovingly, cover me up with care, so he wouldn't put my supposedly delicate health at risk. Who wouldn't love that?! Well, not _love_ , of course not, just... like it, be fond of it, that is. Come on, everyone likes to gets spoiled!

And boy, does he spoil me! I've never had anyone take care of me the way he does! He puts the entire army of our house-elves to shame, with ease! He wakes me up with those butterfly kisses I just love, mumbling most adorably how irresistible he finds me, then he makes love to me and just because he's so impossibly good at it we usually end up doing it twice before he carries me to a bathroom, drives me crazy with those large soapy hands of his and we end up fucking like there's no tomorrow and... oh, man, I don't think I've ever had half this much sex in my life and it's just bloody addictive, isn't it, I always end up gasping for more...

And then he makes me food, whatever meal is in order, it's not always breakfast, the days just kind of merge into one with him around, and he cooks most wonderful, most delicious food, none of that bloody complicated calorie-counted nutritiously-balanced crap I've been having all my life, but real food, like bangers and mash – have you got _any_ idea how delicious that is!? And I can use all the calories I can acquire, he makes sure of that, bloody inexhaustible ginger beast...

And then at one point or another he most annoyingly remembers he has a home somewhere and he leaves.... and the world just kind of fades for the few hours when he's not around, doesn't it... I get restless and I feel trapped and irritated and... incomplete. How dreadfully ridiculous, now that I think of it... But he always comes back when I call him, I make sure of that, Cassiopeia is a one-owl-kamikaze, she'd get to him through the chimney if she had to! And the world kind of rights itself when he's here.

Why does the idiot even have to leave!? I made sure he has everything he could ever want right here! I even got him one of those Muggle TV-lisions, because he might have mentioned to Potter he loved them and Pansy overheard. Interesting contraption. I think the Muggles might have developed it to keep the folly inside, I honestly don't believe I've seen quite that much nonsense in my entire life. Quite laughable, really. But I love watching him laugh at all the lunacy, he knocks his head back and roars into the Heaven with his deep rumbling laughter that fills this empty apartment with warmth and happiness to the ceiling and he's to die for... I just...

God, this is fucked up... but I think... I might want to keep him. I know he'd like that, too, I know it. He thinks I don't hear him when he whispers his quiet confession into our post-coital bubble of bliss... and I make sure he thinks I'm sleeping or he might never say it. But I wait for it, I wait every bloody time, wait with a pounding heart and strained breath and I don't think I could go to sleep if it didn't come. I need to hear him say it, have him say my name and say those fragile words I choke on.

Love... What a strange, strange concept. I've never been comfortable with it. But for him, perhaps... Bloody hell, this is scary... Shhhh, shut up, brain, he's about to say it now and I don't want to miss it. I can't bear it, so... just shut up and listen.

 _There_. It came. I should really go to sleep now. Except, I'm all unravelled and just a little bit crazy and restless tonight and he really did fuck me stupid and almost had me say it... so it's now or never.

“Weasley, we've been fucking for three weeks straight and it's only good manners you ask me out... I think a dinner at “The Silver Spoon” will do.”

Bloody hell, I think I must have killed him. I'm positive his heart stopped beating. Only... oh, that berk!

“Weasley, you berk, get your tremendous weight off me, I'm pretty sure that one of the requirements for a relationship to work out is that both parties are alive! And I'll have that kiss now. No, not that boring, chaste one, the proper one... you know, that one... oh, yes... _this one..._ your patented one. Oh, to hell with it, I love you, too, Ron...”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my way of saying thank you to all those that read my fics in 2014. As you know, I mostly write Ron/Draco and because it's not a very popular pairing, every reader is worth their weight in gold. So I put this up in 2 hours yesterday and polished it today. Not beta-ed, but it rarely is. It's the shortest thing I've ever written and I hope it's not too much a waste of your time. Happy 2015, make it your best year ever!


End file.
